To remember, we must picture it as small.
If the memory is too vast—
memory will not remember it at all.
The memory is distant already—
like the house from the plane
when the goodbyes were unpleasant,
covered by the airport and the rain.
All memories are dark
and the ones we desperately hold
hold us, and make us old.
So what are we to do?
The memory describes love
so it’s a memory of you,
who within the great event
always knew what to do.
Time will seek to leave the event
and make it small.
We were married.
The images I remember say this was all.